One Step Closer
by Lyra Pendragon
Summary: R&R plz--Six years into the war Hermione becomes Severus Snape's replacement as the Order's spy. Trying to get closer, Hermione finds out a few disturbing facts...
1. Nimura Kikyo

_A/N: Well, as it turned out (ironically) I DID get the name wrong last time....and that's sad. So, yeah, I'm redoing this chapter. Sorry for the inconvenience._

_Ahem. This is an answer to a challenge (my first challenge! Woo!) I don't really understand how challenges work, so I'm sorry if I get something wrong. This story probably won't be too action packed, like The Time Turner. More to deal with personal demons. Angst ensues..._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing!! Rowling owns it all!! I'm just a sad, sad soul who didn't think of Harry Potter first!!!_

**ONE STEP CLOSER**

**CHAPTER ONE: NIMURA KIKYO**

The death of Severus Snape had not made their circumstances any easier. If truth be told–things were even worse than before. Hermione had not thought the war would last this long. It had been years!

Six years since the war had begun. Six years since Cornelius Fudge announced that he believed Dumbledore. Six years since Sirius died as the first casualty.

Six years of more death and treachery and hatred...

As Dumbledore's speech rolled off his tongue smoothly, these points were carried out multiple times. Mainly his speech was meant to encourage the Order–an increasingly more difficult task. The first true battle had occurred during the last year. Before that the "battles" were only of words and politics–and a few scuffles here and there. The First Battle (or the "Battle of Darkness," as it was called by Death Eaters) had been a bloody fight over the course of four days. The "light" had lost so horribly that even Dumbledore had trouble pulling them all back up again.

This particular meeting was the first in months. After The First Battle Voldemort had let up a bit. His Death Eaters had been starved for victory, and the final coming of their wish had gotten to their heads quickly. A counterattack had been evident among the Order's members, but Dumbledore had quickly pushed the prospect away. Their losses had been too extreme to do anything worth while. The last meeting had taken place immediately after their surrender in the First Battle. Dumbledore's purpose was to prevent anyone from becoming too discouraged–to lighten their spirits. He'd explained that they would certainly not counterattack at this critical time. In result, Harry had announced that he would be leaving to study. Harry had been gone ever since and the war had cooled down.

As it was, the surprise meeting proved to be going quite the same as the last one. Dumbledore–amazing as he was–showed his age at last. Hermione noticed only too well how he could no longer keep his shoulders high, how he had to grab hold of a table top just to stand himself up, how the twinkle in his eyes seemed to be gone. However, as long as the ignorant public didn't see it, they would be fine. They would be fine. She had to keep reminding herself that. It had to be true. If it was not true, what would happen to them?

Finally, after so much of Dumbledore's compliments and charm, he moved on to more pressing matters.

Hermione sat up. Before she had barely heard him. Now something of importance was sure to be spoken of.

"Now," Dumbledore said, pulling up to his full height and looking around at the many faces majestically. "I would like to press forward to other things."

Silence.

After looking around again, eyes beginning to shine again, Dumbledore said, "I assume that you all have been speaking to each other? Swapping rumors? I know that sometimes you all feel left out.

"I'd like to tell you all about what has happened. Voldemort, as you all know, has been lying low." He shrugged a bit and stroked his beard, "Well, as low as he can be. His Death Eaters, however, are finally getting restless. He's been trying to pull everyone forward for another attack while they still want to win.

"Attacks were set in Japan and in the US recently. I have reason to believe that new followers have come from America..."

Everyone's faces were low now. Everyone looked rather saddened. If only Harry had known how upsetting these meetings were, he would never have wanted to be a part of them in fifth year.

Ginny Weasley stood up. "How do you know all this?"

Dumbledore smiled ruefully. He glanced at Hermione, then addressed Ginny who was still standing, "Severus Snape died, you know this don't you, Ginevra?"

She nodded, frowning. "Voldemort killed him. He found out..." She trailed off.

"Exactly." Dumbledore said, closing his eyes respectively, "After Voldemort killed Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew I found another spy. As difficult as it is to join Voldemort's ranks at this point in time, I was lucky. Or...she was lucky."

Hermione looked down at her hands as Dumbledore looked openly at her.

She could sense everyone else staring.

"Hermione Granger is posing as a formerly thought dead woman named Nimura Kikyo. The woman was pureblood Japanese. She died in some sort of accident when running from Japanese legal forces for murdering two Muggle-born witches. Later, Hermione and I found out about her, and Hermione joined Voldemort disguised as her. She was with three wizards when she did so. All three had been Kikyo's friends and they believed Hermione when she said that she faked her own death."

Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke up now, "How did she disguise herself? If the woman is dead, how did Hermione...." He trailed off, cleared his throat, and said, "You cannot use polyjuice potion to steal the face of someone who is dead."

Dumbledore looked fondly at Hermione. "I am thoroughly amazed at everyone's ability to keep secrets from me." He looked at everyone else, eyes twinkling.

"Hermione, if I get the story wrong, please correct me.

"I believe that when they were still in school, Harry and Hermione began looking at the subject of metamorphosis. They wanted to find a way to change Harry's appearance to help him pull away from the public eye. They couldn't use polyjuice potion, of course.

Dumbledore smiled proudly as he went on, "Hermione invented a Metamorphosis potion. This potion let's you look like whatever you can imagine. Once you decide on what you want to look like, you force yourself to become it and this new 'disguise' is in place for at least eight hours."

Everyone looked at Hermione respectfully.

"Now. With all that said, I would like to speak with a few select people."

Everyone looked back at Dumbledore curiously.

"Kingsley, Bill, and Hermione. You three need to stay here. Everyone else, please see yourselves out. Our next meeting will be held, unless there are complications, in two weeks."

Everyone shuffled out, talking quietly among themselves, to leave Dumbledore alone with Hermione and the two men. The large room caused their footsteps to echo, making it seem as if there were at least a hundred more people there. Hermione solemnly wished this were so.

When they'd all gone, Dumbledore walked forward and shut the door behind the last person. He turned back toward the three who were still sitting, watching him.

"Kingsley." Dumbledore began, "I believe you know what I wanted to ask of you. Is it decided?"

"Yes." Kingsley said, popping his knuckles absentmindedly. Dumbledore looked serious at this news.

"It will only cause more death." Dumbledore muttered.

Bill and Hermione exchanged a glanced.

Dumbledore then looked at Bill, "You are being transferred back to Egypt, are you not?"

Bill nodded.

"Right. I ask you to try to get more members while you are there, Bill. Also, I think we'll try to get our hands on..."

Bill nodded, smirking a bit.

Hermione was used to this sort of thing. Dumbledore knew that most people didn't want others to know what Dumbledore personally asked of them. He did his best to keep everyone's secrets.

Unless, of course, the secrets were too important to be kept secret.

Dumbledore paused before addressing Hermione. "I want you to get closer to Voldemort."

Hermione stared. "You mean, even closer than I already am?"

"Yes." She glared. "Do anything to can to get closer. I know this is hard for you...but I want you to be in his inner circle. I know from experience that anyone in Voldemort's inner circle is always knowledgeable of his plans..."

They all looked down.

--x--x--

Hermione glared at her reflection, then rolled her eyes, thinking about how stupid it was that she was doing this. Practicing. She never practiced. Or at least she never used to practice.

If she didn't, though, she knew that it might lead to certain death.

Still glaring at herself, she wondered again why she was doing this...Then she smiled ruefully at her tilted eyes. The woman who she was posing as wouldn't be thinking such thoughts! She would be wondering why she wasn't already raised higher in the ranks of the Death Eaters. A whole five months since she'd been initiated and she still hadn't been given a higher position.

Of course, that was what Hermione was thinking too. She had used every ounce of her reserves to even get this far...and she was afraid that this was her peak.

Tired of glaring, Hermione just settled with looking at herself in the mirror.

Her hair was waist-length and black. Her eyes were–of course–Japanese. They were black over a small nose and full lips. She was rather shorter than the real Hermione was. She looked exactly as Nimura Kikyo should look. Hermione smiled, then finished brushing her straight, straight hair and went out into the silent corridor.

She was surprised that they'd actually let her do this. She wasn't a pureblood. Far from it. Why could no one else do this thing?

The fact was, they'd offered. Even little Mrs. Weasley had offered to take Hermione's place. Apart from the fact that Mrs. Weasley was obviously too weak to take this on, Hermione had insisted on this because there was nothing else for her. She would have done it, even if someone else had.


	2. Meeting

_A/N: Don't know what to say, except...sorry for not updating..._

**CHAPTER TWO: MEETING**

She was surprised that they'd actually let her do this. She wasn't a pureblood. Far from it. Why could no one else do this thing?

The fact was, they'd offered. Even little Mrs. Weasley had offered to take Hermione's place. Apart from the fact that Mrs. Weasley was obviously too weak to take this on, Hermione had insisted on this because there was nothing else for her. She would have done it, even if someone else had.

–x–x–

Dumbledore's request that Hermione get closer to Voldemort was nothing if not difficult. It was nearly impossible, to be truthful. So far, Hermione had only succeeded in earning Voldemort's disrespect. She'd _tripped_ in front of him. How disgusting.

She smiled as she slipped on black robes for the night's upcoming meeting, thinking of that. She was beginning to think like one of his followers. That was for sure.

It was probably good for her to be thinking so. Talking with Dumbledore had certainly increased in discomfort, but it was better than talking to Voldemort and giving herself away.

Hermione used to be crazy over books. It had almost been an actual hunger to read anything at all. Before Hogwarts, Hermione was mainly interested in history. The subject that had begun her craving for it was World War II. In so many ways, she now remembered as she pinned up her hair, Voldemort reminded her of Adolf Hitler. The two were carbon copies of each other in everything but appearance. Both conniving and having unmatchable wit. Both had names that could frighten even the strongest of hearts. Both had found the perfect scapegoat to make themselves the perfect army to carry out their own wishes. Both had followers who weren't really followers but people who had nothing else to do with themselves, who could not deny him in any aspect, or who just wanted more...like Hermione. She shivered as she walked outside into the snow (there were too many wards on her home to apparate from inside of it), not because of the cold, but because she knew that she was falling into the same patterns as the rest of them. She was going to become a true follower and never be able to back out, not after sinking so low.

–x–x–

Diamond. Hermione hadn't thought before that Voldemort's choice in chandelier crystals would be made of diamond. She'd thought that he was too practical to pair a chandelier with diamonds, blue candles, amazing tapestries, and illustrious windows. Strangely enough, Hermione felt comfortable in the large room among the rest of the Death Eaters. Harry had always set the image in her mind that Death Eaters were always looking angry and arrogant. She could never have imagined them looking so kind and contented. Ahead of her, Hermione could see Lucius Malfoy clutching the cool delicate fingers of Narcissa.

The meeting was a welcoming one. Four new Death Eaters, fresh out of school and noticeably innocent, were having the ugly Dark Mark burned into their arms. All of them were boys. Rarely was a woman accepted into Voldemort's ranks. Tonight was special, apparently, because half of the Death Eaters had brought their wives. Bellatrix, to Hermione's right, looked like she was brooding. Her glance kept slipping toward a young, beautiful woman who was holding the arm of a newer Death Eater. Bellatrix's scowl deepened with every glance.

Hermione looked back up at Voldemort. Strangely enough, she hadn't been listening to Voldemort's welcoming speech (oh how she craved Dumbledore's welcoming speeches instead), like she usually did. Now that she thought about it, Hermione realized that she probably knew what he'd said. This wasn't a usual meeting, so there would be no useful news tonight. He was obviously done, because everyone suddenly hurried forward to congratulate the newcomers, shaking hands and nodding approvingly. Many of the mass of people were congregating in little groups here and there. Music started playing from somewhere and some people danced. Hermione headed toward the edge of the room, feeling put out.

She wished vaguely that Harry were here...or perhaps...not _here_, but at a party with many guests and lavish decorations where everyone else felt content and giddy from the wine. If no one else would dance with her, Harry would. After the difficult time he'd had during fourth year dancing with Parvati Patil, Harry had taught himself how to dance. He wasn't amazing, but at least Hermione felt comfortable with him.

After a few minutes of gloomy looking-on Hermione was surprised to find a man, tall and dark with strangely lit grey eyes, asking her to dance. She almost said no, being accustomed to letting things happen around her (she'd always liked being the third party), but hesitantly accepted and held out a hand for him to take.

Nimura Kikyo's slender frame was shorter than Hermione was. Her fingers were so much softer, unlike Hermione's wand calloused hands. Her legs were quite long compared to Hermione's, but moved more like a swan than a stork. Her head seemed heavier with so much more hair up on top. In every sense, Li Kikyo was perfect–at least in Hermione's mind. It felt rather pleasant to be residing in such a perfect body.

The man (Gregor, he'd called himself in a Russian accent) was quite good at dancing. Comparing the two, Hermione easily decided that he was much better than Harry. Although, on the grounds that Harry had been seventeen when Hermione had last danced with him, that wasn't much of an assumption. Besides, Harry had more things to do with his time....like saving the world, for instance.

Why was she thinking about Harry?

Hermione pulled her act together as Gregor deposited her back in her original place at the wall, bowing as he skimmed away. Hermione quickly immersed herself in her position again and pulled on the elegant nobility that she usually took as her face. It suited the oriental eyes that she had now, she'd found. It made her look mysterious. Rather, it made Kikyo look mysterious.

She was asked to dance once more. It took a few moments of dancing with the small giant to realize who he was. Crabbe. What was the first name...? Vincent. Draco had never referred to his bodyguards in first name terms. It was a wonder how Hermione even remembered it now.

She spoke with him. He was still stupid, though not as stupid as she remembered. He didn't quite fit into the caveman image that she'd seen him in school. It wasn't a bad thing, really. After so long Hermione wondered if the only reason why Draco's bodyguards seemed so stupid was because he never gave them a chance to be anything else. After so long the surprise she'd felt at the fact that he could carry on a conversation wore off, and she actually began to enjoy herself.

Half an hour of dancing with Vincent and he let her go. She went back to her previous seat, feeling content. She wondered why she felt so cheerful, then smiled when she remembered that Vincent had been kind enough not to step on her feet.

She had been sitting alone for a few minutes, gathering her bearings silently, and had not yet been asked to dance. She was getting lonely. No one looked at her. At the end of the hall Voldemort spoke with a few men, who were obvious soaking it all up like sponges.

"He doesn't want to be here."

"Wha–?" Hermione asked, turning to whoever had spoken.

She gasped.

He looked only slightly confused, a trace of the boy he'd been only a few years before. Other than that, his face was noble now, proud, impassive. A slight smile played over his older features. The freckles had almost faded. The red hair was long, in a stylish ponytail. His tall (no longer lanky) torso was in bottle-green robes. The robes made a mockery of Harry. He obviously couldn't care less. He held his head up like the pureblood that Voldemort had made him to be.

"What?" Ron questioned.

She gulped. She felt her skin crawl. She blinked away a tear and muttered, "Nothing," Before turning away.

"What's wrong?" He said insistently, touching her shoulder. Hermione shrugged away from him, standing up and looking for somewhere, anywhere to go but here.

Why hadn't she thought about him? She'd spent the first few months as Kikyo, looking over her shoulder every few seconds, making sure Ron wasn't there. How could she have forgotten?

She didn't look back as she walked off, hoping beyond hope that he would just forget about her, ignore her. She wasn't so lucky, though, as she found out with a quick glance behind her. He followed her.

Hermione stopped, thinking fast. What should she do? What should she say?

Ron caught up with her and came to stand in front of her. He frowned.

Hermione screwed up her face then, acting surprised....relieved. Her insides squirmed with dread. "Oh! I..." She laughed softly, happily, "I thought you were someone else--"

"Who?" He asked.

"N-no one."

He raised an eyebrow. He didn't believe her.

But he let it go. Ron had grown up.

"Okay." They stood, silence between them while noise circled all around. Someone bumped into Hermione's elbow. Finally, "Want to dance?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked at his outstretched arm, frowning. She hesitated, then took it.

She didn't want to give herself away.

But the feel of his hand on her back, his fingers curved over her knuckles, his very presence frightened her. Her lungs felt like an iron fist was clamped over them.

Stop it, stop it, leave me a–

"Hey." He was looking at her with a teenager's pout.

"Hmm?" Hermione asked, trying to sound as if she was enjoying herself.

"I was just asking you your name." Ron said, sounding annoyed.

"Nimura Kikyo. Call me Kikyo."

He frowned at her. "I _know_ how to say it." Then he was silent. So was Hermione. After a few more minutes Ron fidgeted and said, "_Well_?"

"Well what?" Hermione asked

Ron let out a guttural sound and muttered, not looking at her, "My name is Ron. Ron Weasley."

Hermione nodded.

After a few more minutes she realized something, and it was almost motivation enough to run away right then. She was enjoying herself.

A frown knitted itself between her eyebrows as she leaned closer to Ron involuntarily. How could she be enjoying herself with him. With _him_? It was wrong. She felt like a traitor, or worse. She hadn't felt this comfortable with Vincent, and Vincent was a good man, compared to Ron. Couldn't she just feel revulsion and be done?

An arm pushed Ron away from her. Hermione looked up. Vincent was there.

She fought the urge to run out of the room along with the urge to run back to Ron's embrace and stood still, looking at Vincent expectantly.

Vincent smiled greedily. There was that school bully.

"He gave her to me." Vincent said to Ron. With that said, he took Hermione's arm in his and took her away.

_A/N: too many cliffies, no?_


	3. Emotions

**CHAPTER THREE: EMOTIONS**

An arm pushed Ron away from her. Hermione looked up. Vincent was there.

She fought the urge to run out of the room along with the urge to run back to Ron's embrace and stood still, looking at Vincent expectantly.

Vincent smiled greedily. There was that school bully.

"He gave her to me." Vincent said to Ron. With that said, he took Hermione's arm in his and took her away.

x-x-

The dress looked like something medieval. Something mixed between a queen's gown and a fairy's dress. Or maybe that last bit was just the flowers. Hermione hadn't thought that Vincent would like this type of thing. She'd fully expected something like the equivalent of going out and eloping. Not a wedding.

She was just glad that this wasn't real.

She thought.

She hoped.

The further that Hermione went with this, the worse it all seemed to become, harder to handle, more emotional, more real. She kept expecting to wake up and find this all to be a dream–then she really would wake up, to find that all of it was true. Everything.

_I am Hermione Granger. I am Hermione Granger. I am Hermione Granger..._

Not Kikyo. Not Kikyo.

_Am I?_

She had to stop, then, leaning on the wall closest to her, breathing deeply

Had it been this hard for Snape? It couldn't have, could it? At least he was used to it, at least he knew what he was sinking himself into. Why had anyone let Hermione do this? Why–?

_Shut up!_

She'd volunteered. Not only that, she'd insisted. She had _asked_ to spy for them.

Hermione was composed again. Good. It was those mere moments of weakness that could ultimately get her caught. That was how it had been with Snape.

x-x-

"_I've been found out." He said, in the quietest, angriest voice that Hermione could ever imagine coming from another human being. She knew his emotions now, though. It made sense. He always used that tone when he was distressed, saddened, frightened, and he didn't want anyone–even himself–to know it._

_Next to Hermione, Harry clenched like a fist clenches into a ball. It was almost unnoticeable, but she could see it. She knew him too well._

_Harry couldn't hear Snape's pain. Harry was too absorbed in his own pain, his own emotions and problems, to care about Snape's. But, then, when had Severus ever stopped to notice that Harry had a heart–why should Harry return a favor that was never given in the first place?_

_Snape cleared his voice. "I've been found out." He said again, this time meticulously removing all emotion from that silky voice of his._

x-x-

And that was how he'd been found out. He couldn't keep his emotions inside. Nobody could forever. Harry was horrible at it, but he knew that in the face of danger, he had to do it. Harry understood almost as well as Snape had that emotion could freeze you, fool you, into stupidity. Emotion could ruin you.

Ron's emotions had overrun him. After keeping the jealousy inside for so long it had time to age and turn into something much, much worse.

Hatred was such an easy emotion to come by.

Hermione wondered when Ron actually realized that that quiet, seething little feeling about Harry was not pity, but hatred. She wondered when he finally decided what to do with something so strong. She wondered if Ron still hated Harry, after all this time, as much as Hermione still loved Ron, despite what he'd done.

Love.

Sometimes she thought that love was worse than hate, It was good for a while, but as soon as it soured you were only left with old memories and feelings that you knew would never come back. Then you could only think of ways that it would all come back, things that you should and shouldn't have done that could make it all better. You doubted yourself, you hated what you'd loved. It was like and addiction, but a hundred times worse.

In the end, the only thing that love had done for Hermione was make her heart stronger, and her mind smarter.

She wanted the love back.

She touched the creamy white of the dress's bodice, wishing to rip it off instead. She only had seconds to think on the possibility before Bellatrix's voice intermingled with her violent little thoughts, "I'm back!"

Bella was the picture of joy.

She came up behind Hermione, pins in hand like lethal weapons ready to stab into Hermione's head. She could have been Hermione's annoying little sister judging by the bubbly look on her face. Not that "bubbly" defined a little sister, but Hermione could see she had potential.

Bella had been talking when she left five minutes ago, but she started talking again as if she'd been gone for five seconds. "This is amazing, Kikyo! A beautiful wedding if I do say so myself..."

_Why don't you get married then?_

Hermione tried to look happy. She looked like she was going to be sick.

"Do I look okay?" Hermione asked, interrupting whatever babble Bella had been amusing herself with.

Bella looked at her through the mirror, "You look beautiful." She inspected Hermione's face closely, "A little green, but that's just wedding jitters. Trust me, I've been there."

Bellatrix finished up with Hermione's hair, ushering her forward and shoving a bouquet into her hands, explaining what to do (even thought they'd gone over this a thousand times already) and leaving her to wait.

_Don't worry, Hermy–_

x-x-

–_it can't be real._

Ron stood next to Draco, feeling utterly uncomfortable. The two may be allies now, but Draco had made it clear from the start that he still hated Ron with something close to passion.

Strangely enough, though, Draco Malfoy's frightening presence next to him was not the reason of Ron's unease.

Crabbe stood like a very conceited statue, waiting for Kikyo to come to him like some sort of lapdog. Ouch. Bad image.

Ha. Ron could keep his sense of humor even now, how pleasant.

The music started, everyone turned around toward the back, waiting for Kikyo to come out. Ron took a quick second to look at the thirty or so expectant faces. All allies, few friends, few of them above Ron himself. The Dark Lord was far to the left of Ron. He did not stand. Even at her wedding Kikyo was below him. What else could Ron expect?

She came like something in a play. Her dress looked perfect, her hair looked perfect, her skin was radiant.

She was prettier than Hermione was. Not Ron's type but he still could not deny the fact. He didn't particularly like her looks, but there was still something there–even now–that Ron couldn't ignore. He didn't understand what it was. He could feel it there. Like he and Kikyo had been friends long ago, and were only meeting again, not for the first time.

He saw it that night, and he saw it now.

He watched her walk down the aisle, looking calm and cool and not at all out of place in this world of showy wedding glamour. He didn't like the way she walked. He didn't like the look on her face as she reached the dais and looked into Crabbe's eyes with happiness.

Ron had liked her. It had been plain that she didn't like him back in any sense of the word, but he couldn't help but be drawn to her.

Everyone talked about this woman from Japan who had somehow worked her way into Volemort's ranks. Many had thought she could not assume some place in the inner circle, but she had.

She defied them. Those arrogant purebloods that had doubted her had been proven wrong. She was marrying Vincent Crabbe. Not the brightest on in the bunch, but still one with many connections–and a place close to Voldemort. And the fact that he wasn't one of thought would probably help her along the way.

Ron wanted to know just what this woman was planning.


	4. Death

_A/N: I realize that this chapter is….eh…extremely short. I was not in the mood for writing, as you can probably tell. Next chappie will be longer._

**CHAPTER FOUR: DEATH**

"I am going to use my current arrangement to find a way into his inner circle," He tried to say something, but once again Hermione cut him off. "After all, all of the best information comes to those in his inner circle right?"

He didn't like that she was bouncing his own words back at him like a true follower of Voldemort would. Dumbledore never liked being proven wrong.

She'd been doing that a lot lately, however—and not just to him.

Amazingly enough, Vincent did have a brain. Not much of one, but he still liked to cradle the cute idea that he could only be the imperial master of his woman as was supposed in pureblood society. Hermione was his woman, he was a pureblood man, but he still did not understand that perhaps she could be more intelligent than him. And he might have to accept that someday.

At least this is what Hermione deduced.

But then she might be wrong.

It seemed like everything in her life lately was based on doubt. Perhaps that was what brought Voldemort so many followers in the first place. Doubt in many, many things. Doubt in themselves and those that they trust (or don't trust, whichever). Doubt in their own reasons and if, in the end, they will have been doing the right or wrong thing all along.

Hermione mostly feared this.

Perhaps she'd been wrong all this time. Dumbledore could be just as manipulating as Voldemort himself. They were two of a kind, with the same goals, only different ways to reach those goals. So which path was the right one?

It made her head spin.

So much, actually, that she shook her head physically when she came back to Dumbledore's office thirty seconds later in the middle of an obviously practiced little speech of faith from the man himself.

He stopped talking. Probably for the best. He was starting to irritate Hermione.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

_My name's—_

She didn't answer him.

"Fine." He muttered. "I can see that you are preoccupied. You are dismissed, just be careful, Hermione. Dear."

She lifted a confused eyebrow at him before standing up and leaving the office.

x-x-

Four months later her previous notions were nowhere in sight. At least not at that current moment.

Mostly this was because her tense mind didn't have any room for doubts in front of Jake Beeblebrock's home in downtown London. As Lucius had informed their little group, Jake was a highly acclaimed Ministry man in his late fourties. He had a family that he barely ever visited—he'd sent them off to live in a cute, country American home years ago, sufficiently getting rid of both their person and any bothers he could acquire from the lot. His career as the head of some pompous ministry branch that Hermione didn't much care about was more important to him than his family. That almost upset Hermione, seeing as she could relate, in a way. Her parents, in her later school years, had adopted the same attitude.

His "home" was nothing more than a Muggle-blocked tenant building some ump-teens levels tall. It was gray. At night, like now, it was black.

Hermione was feeling more depressed by the minute.

The group entered the building like a shadow. Over the last few years Voldemort's followers had risen from the retired jokes that they were in the beginning to completely efficient assassins. They were silent as they moved up to where they'd seen Jake Beeblebrock go after a long, difficult day of ordering underdogs around.

As they stepped over the threshold, hugging the walls with graceful ease, Hermione remembered the last time she'd been here. A different group had been there, excluding Lucius and Draco. Last time their intrusion had been halfway friendly. This time they were coming here to kill the man who had turned down the Dark Lord.

Voldemort had wanted him, but not enough to force him to join the Death Eaters' ranks. Much easier to just have the stupid man killed.

Ha. Stupid. Years ago Hermione would've denied Lord Voldemort faster than Jake Beeblebrock did. Yet still, she couldn't bring herself to think herself stupid as this man was. She had been foolish, yes, but not stupid.

Jake Beeblebrock's eyes spoke terror when he saw them. His home was neat and mature. Underneath that, however, Hermione could feel dank disuse of the place. She could see his want of comfort as they zeroed in on him. She wondered vaguely if he wanted his family now.

When people died, Hermione could see the visible loss of life. To her, the spell felt like it not only took its mark's life, but part of hers as well. To wield such power, one had to be willing to give something up. To wield a spell over life itself, one had to be willing to give part of their own life.

Perhaps Dark magic was only named so because it was the only magic where one had to give some form of payment to work it. She could see why Voldemort was so cold. What soul had been in his shell before was long gone with the payment of dark magic. Payment of one's heart and soul would seem so trivial in the light of power and glory.

Jake's eyes were empty now. The color was still there, but dimmed somehow. Hermione had done that to him. She felt self-loathing just looking at him. It was the first time she'd killed someone. She was the thief of souls.

x-x-

Vincent's home was not too large or too rich. It felt cold, like the air-conditioned aura that one would get in the middle of a large bank. It did not feel welcome, but at least Hermione didn't feel like running away every time she entered the place.

Vincent was off somewhere. He'd said that he would be with Goyle. Hermione didn't know or care what he was doing in his spare time. It gave her time alone.

It was official. She was in the inner circle. She was in the same position that Snape had been in, before he'd been killed. She could only hope that she wouldn't end up with the same fate tied to her wrist.

Voldemort had told her that Jake's death had been the last death. He wanted his inner circle to be tough. Apparently the ability to kill without flinching was proof enough.

Hermione smiled to herself as she entered the library. If the ability to kill proved toughness, then Harry was a kitten.

At least he had been last time Hermione saw him.

She wondered how he was doing.

Thinking about him, she quietly trudged over to the bookcases in the small library. They were neat and orderly. Hermione had been the one to set them up. Vincent hated to read. Hermione smiled again as she feathered small fingers over the spines.

She stopped and looked at those fingers. They weren't hers. She choked back a noise of despair when she realized that she couldn't remember what her own fingers looked like.


End file.
